Times Two (a sequel to Time Trip)
by Dannyblue
Summary: Angel gets a glimpse of his future.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Times Two (1/3)  
  
AUTHOR: Dannyblue  
  
EMAIL: dannyblue2@yahoo.com  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
  
ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just drop me a note so I'll know where.  
  
SUMMARY: This is a sequel to "Time Trip". Angel gets a glimpse of his future.  
  
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Provider" on ANGEL. Also general BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER.  
  
PAIRING: C/A and B/A.  
  
RATING: PG-13. Nothing you wouldn't see on the show.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone or anything associated with "Angel" or "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".  
  
NOTE: This is the answer to a challenge made to me by Yabyumpan over at the Stranger Things Forum. I didn't exactly follow the challenge to the letter, but I think this works too.  
  
PART ONE  
  
The Past...  
  
Angel sat alone in the mansion, in a chair that faced the cold fireplace. A first edition of Les Miserables lay, unopened, in his lap. And, in his mind, the memories were like shadows. Black as night, and sharp enough to cut.  
  
He remembered a young couple, newly married, about to spend their first night alone in their honeymoon cottage. They answered a late-night knock on their door, and were too kind to turn away a hungry, road weary traveler. A bedraggled stranger.  
  
He lingered over the meal they offered, and silently laughed at the young groom's impatience. The young man was so desperate to be alone with his new bride.  
  
As the hours wore on, as Angelus lingered over every slice of bread or hunk of cheese, asked for one more tankard of mead, the young man's impatience grew. His civility began to vanish. When his hints fell on seemingly deaf ears, he became openly rude.  
  
Finally, his embarrassed bride pulled him aside.  
  
"What can it hurt to help this poor man?" she asked in a whisper, unaware Angelus could hear every word. "You and I will have the rest of our lives to be alone together."  
  
And, shamed by his wife's words, the young man once again became the gracious host.  
  
Angelus started with the bride. He visited one torture after another upon her young body. And her husband of less than 24 hours, gagged and tied to a chair, saw it all...  
  
Angel snapped out of his reverie, screams echoing through his memory. He took a deep, unneeded breath and glanced towards the window.  
  
The sun had set.  
  
____________________  
  
The patrols were an excuse.  
  
Angel, who wasn't good at self-deception, knew it. In fact, it was safe to say everyone knew it. But, still, his feet from carried him towards the Bronze.  
  
Towards Buffy.  
  
Hands in the pockets of his duster, the vampire moved through the shadows, avoiding the glow of the streetlamps more by instinct than design. He didn't have to think about where he was going. The trek had become very familiar.  
  
Every night, an hour or two after sunset, he met up with Buffy at her home, or the Bronze. Then, the two of them went of patrol.  
  
Never mind that she was the Slayer, stronger than any other human, any vampire, could hope to be. That there wasn't much she couldn't handle on her own. That they'd be more effective, cover more ground, if they split up.  
  
It was a little piece of common sense they both chose to ignore. Doing the sensible thing would mean losing the one thing they had left.  
  
They'd both agreed it was unwise to spend too much time together. But, on patrol, they could pretend they were together to hunt. And not just to be together.  
  
Angel turned the corner and saw the Bronze. Its sign blazed like a beacon for every teen in town to see. A steady stream of young, attractive patrons flowed through the door.  
  
Angel walked into the Bronze...and was swamped by sensations. The glow, the hot energy, of youth. The sounds of hearts pumping in a hundred different rhythms, each unique and enticing. The smell of warm blood, teasing the hunger that was always there, just beneath the surface.  
  
Once upon a time--in fact, not so long ago--he'd loved places like this. The dim lights, made mysterious by the haze of smoke. And the people, the smell of their blood getting stronger and sweeter as they danced, and laughed, and flirted. Once upon a time, on a night like this, in a place like this, his mouth would've watered as he singled out his prey.  
  
Now, his first instinct was to flee. To get away from the sea of pulsing humanity. The temptation screaming through his veins. To go back to the mansion and sink into the darkness that was so much a part of him. Alone, as he deserved.  
  
But he couldn't. Because she was there.  
  
She sat at a table, gently swaying to the music, surrounded by her friends. Willow said something that she must not have heard. She leaned forward, so the red-head could whisper in her ear. Then, she threw her head back and laughed.  
  
Mesmerized, Angel drank in the sight of her. The youthful innocence that surrounded her. He'd lost the ability to laugh that way, to smile that way, so long ago. But, watching her, he could almost remember what it felt like...  
  
Just then, Willow spotted him. She offered him a shy wave. Then tapped Buffy on the arm, and she pointed in his direction.  
  
Buffy turned. She saw him. And her eyes sparkled.  
  
If Angel had had a pulse, it would have raced. As it was, the heavy weight that always pressed against his cold, dead heart seemed to lift. A little.  
  
Angel made his way through the crush of bodies. Ignored them. Focused on her.  
  
"Hi, Angel!" Willow said when he reached the table. And he could almost believe she couldn't remember the feel of his hands around her throat.  
  
"Hey," Oz said with a quiet nod.  
  
"Angel!" Buffy said, her voice determinedly cheerful. "I didn't think you were going to show!"  
  
Angel gave her a long, hard stare. He knew that voice. It was her we'll-be-friends-if-we-can't-be-more voice.  
  
For his part, Angel doubted they could ever be just friends. They'd moved too far too fast past that moment to try to recapture it now. But if this was the only way they could spend time together without her feeling guilty about it--without her deciding they shouldn't spend time together at all--he would try to pretend.  
  
He was about to ask if she was ready to go when there was a break in the music, which was replaced by the hum of clashing conversations. Two bickering voices cut through the chatter like a well-honed razor.  
  
"Just drop it!" the female voice said.  
  
"Drop it!" the male voice replied. "How can I *drop* it? I've been deeply insulted."  
  
"Well, with 18 years of experience under your belt, I'm sure you're used to it."  
  
As another song started, the bickerers appeared out of the crowd. Cordelia Chase glided across the room, head held high...like a princess navigating a sea of peasants. Xander Harris stomped after her, a sullen frown on his face.  
  
"Hi, guys," Buffy said as they approached. "Trouble in paradise?"  
  
"Xander's just being a dweeb," Cordelia said. She gracefully lowered herself into a chair. "You know. The usual."  
  
"I just can't believe you," Xander said. Apparently too angry to notice Angel, he dropped into his seat with much less grace. "Going to a party *I'm* not invited to."  
  
"Well, yeah," she said, as if it made perfect sense. "It's being catered by Le Mason."  
  
"Oooh!" Willow exclaimed, impressed. Then, she cast a guilty glance towards Xander. "I mean, really?"  
  
"See?" Cordelia exclaimed, triumphant. She tossed her long, lustrous hair over her shoulder. "Even Willow knows it's a big deal. And it's not *my* fault there's an exclusive list of guests that *you're* not on."  
  
"Oh, so I'm not *exclusive* enough for you?" Xander demanded, looking like a whipped puppy.  
  
"Pfft!" Cordelia answered.  
  
"Don't worry, Xand," Buffy said. "Willow and I will keep you entertained. "We can go to the movies. Or watch videos..."  
  
"I'd never go to a party *you* weren't invited to," Xander said to Cordelia.  
  
The former May Queen looked down her nose at him. "You mean like that *thing* you took me to last week? Cold pizza, warm soda, and a room full of dermatologically impaired losers, dancing like they were having a group fit? *Not* being invited to another one of those would be a compliment."  
  
Turning away from a sulky Xander, she glanced at the Slayer. "Hey, Buffy? Is that a new sweater?"  
  
"Yeah, actually." Buffy straightened the hem of the black button down. "Just got it today."  
  
"Wow. You actually look halfway decent for once. I mean, *I* might even buy that. If I was running low on cash."  
  
As Buffy's face fall, Angel frowned. Cordelia Chase reminded him of the girls he'd known back in his days as Liam. And as Angelus. Wealthy. Pampered. Shallow and vain. Thoughtlessly cruel, because she didn't bother to care about other people's feelings. Preoccupied with her appearance, her social status.  
  
When he first met her, she'd never missed an opportunity to flirt with him. Every attempt she made to get his attention embarrassed him more than the last, and Angel did his uneasy best to pretend not to notice.  
  
Fortunately, that hadn't lasted. Since she'd learned he was a vampire, and he went on his little evil spree, she'd pretty much ignored him. For which he was extremely thankful.  
  
"Angel." Buffy turned towards him. "Are you ready to go?"  
  
Seeing him for the first time, Xander frowned towards the shadows in which Angel was partially cloaked.  
  
"Dead Boy," the teen said. "I didn't see you skulking there."  
  
Angel didn't comment. Instead, he turned towards Buffy. "Let's go."  
  
____________________  
  
There wasn't much activity in the Havenhurst Cemetery...as one might expect. After all, it was fast after 10 p.m. Hardly a peak time for visitors.  
  
But this was Sunnydale. Walk through a cemetery in the middle of the night in this town, and you had to expect some action...usually. But, tonight, all was quiet...  
  
Except for the voice of one pissed off high school senior.  
  
"I just can't believe Snyder!" Buffy exclaimed. Stomping around a headstone, she waved a stake around for emphasis. "That weasel-faced...weasel. He's determined to catch me doing *something*. And to make my life miserable until he does. And let's not even talk about Mrs. Grover..."  
  
And she told him all about her day. The pop quiz she knew she failed. Cafeteria food that could barely be classified as food. Her mother's "let's send Buffy to a college far away from here" campaign.  
  
Listening to her talk about her life, her normal life, made Angel realize how far removed he was from it. She had an entire existence that didn't include him. Another life he couldn't be a part of.  
  
This was why being around her was almost as painful as being separated from her. Getting these little glimpses into her life, and knowing he would always be on the fringes of it.  
  
It was why he treasured every moment they had together. Why every moment they spent apart felt like forever.  
  
Finally, Buffy sighed and looked around. "This place is dead," she said...then gave Angel a sheepish smile. "Pardon my pun. I think we should call it a night."  
  
Angel felt disappointed--he'd been hoping they'd spend more time together tonight. But all he said was "Whatever you say."  
  
And he walked her home.  
  
As they paused outside her front door, preparing to say goodbye, a familiar awkwardness settled over them.  
  
"Well," Buffy began as she shifted from one foot to the other. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow night."  
  
"Yeah," Angel agreed, hands still buried in his pockets. It was a reminder not to give in to the urge to touch her. Because one touch was too much...and would never be enough. "Tomorrow."  
  
After an uneasy pause, Buffy darted forward and kissed him on the lips. Ending it before he could truly capture it. Then, almost like the hounds of hell were on her heels, she ran into the house.  
  
Sighing, Angel walked away, melted into the shadows. Already, he was thinking of the long, empty hours that would pass until he saw her again.  
  
And the memories that would eat away at him. Reminding him he didn't deserve to even look at her, let alone love her.  
  
As he cut across the cemetery towards the mansion, he heard it. A low, tortured moan. A garbled, strangled sound.  
  
Without a second thought, he ran towards the commotion.  
  
What he saw was a demon. A demon with leathery gray skin, leaning over a boy maybe a year or two older than Buffy and her friends.  
  
The demon had one three-clawed hand on either side of the boy's head. And a long, tentacle-like tongue extended from the creature's mouth and into the boy's. Angel could see the muscles in the teens throat work as the...*thing* worked its way down.  
  
Wondering if he was too late, Angel ran towards the horrifying tableau. He tackled the demon, knocked the creature away from its victim. As the boy collapsed to the ground, Angel slammed his fist against the demon's temple. The thing staggered back, it's tongue whipping wildly from side to side. A high pitched, keening squeal issued from its throat.  
  
Glancing at the boy--who was either unconscious or dead--the vampire pulled out a dagger. Except for several stakes, it was the only weapon he carried.  
  
He saw that, at the end of the demon's tongue, there was another mouth. With razor-sharp teeth that snapped at the air. Angel could only imagine what it had done to the victim's mouth and throat.  
  
Orange eyes glowing with rage, the thing charged.  
  
Angel parried the clumsy attack, stepping back and to the side. With a flick of the dagger, he severed the snapping tongue.  
  
Clutching at its mouth, the thing fell to the ground.  
  
Now, the demon's howl was so high pitched, it was almost beyond the range of human hearing. The sound clawed at Angel's enhanced, vampire senses, making his teeth itch.  
  
Losing an appendage would be enough to slow most beings down. Or at least tell them this was a fight it didn't want to be in. But, even as Angel took several steps back, the demon was trying to get up.  
  
Watching, Angel noticed something. The demon's entire body was covered with that leathery gray skin. It was mottled, rubbery, and looked as thick as armor.  
  
Except for on its forehead. The skin over the area mystics identified as the third eye was a smooth as a human's.  
  
Making a split-second decision, Angel cocked his arm back and threw the dagger.  
  
The knife struck with pinpoint accuracy, piercing that patch of vulnerable skin.  
  
And a wave sickly green light exploded from it.  
  
The light was like a tangible thing. A flood that covered the entire area.  
  
Angel felt as if his eyes were being bathed in slime. The light seemed to sink into his eyes, penetrating his mind, seeping into the rest of his body.  
  
The vampire squeezed his eyes shut. Dizzy, nauseous, he fell to his knees.  
  
He felt like he was spinning through a void. With no up. No down. No smell or sound. Just that sickly green light.  
  
Finally, the light started to fade. Eyes squeezed tight, Angel waited for the dizziness and nausea to pass.  
  
Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, he opened his eyes...  
  
...And found himself in a place he'd never seen before.  
  
Standing, Angel studied his surroundings. He was in a large, windowless room.  
  
"A training room," he realized, taking note of the mats on the floor, the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The weapons adorning the wall.  
  
Pausing when he saw the vases of plastic flowers placed here and there.  
  
He was about to explore a little more when he heard a door open.  
  
Frowning, he turned...and saw a woman bounding down a flight of stairs. She was tall and lithe. And chin-length, brunette hair bounced with every step she took.  
  
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she turned towards him...and let out a startled shriek.  
  
"Geez, Angel!" she exclaimed, pressing one hand to her chest. "How in the world did you beat me down here? I thought Connor would keep you busy for at least another ten, fifteen minutes."  
  
Eyes narrowed, he stepped forward. "Cordelia?"  
  
"What?" she asked. Looking him up and down, she put her hands on her hips. "Why are you dressed like that? Those are going out clothes. Not training clothes."  
  
Angel didn't answer. Instead, he studied the young woman.  
  
It *was* Cordelia. And yet...it wasn't. Not the Cordelia he'd seen just a few hours before.  
  
Her hair was shorter, cut into a style that enhanced her striking features.  
  
And her clothes. Angel had known Cordelia to go demon hunting dressed in a white suede skirt and high heeled pumps. He'd never seen her dressed this casually. Sweat pants, the waist rolled down to ride low on her hips. And a short-sleeved t-shirt that left her midriff bare.  
  
When several moments passed and he still hadn't spoken, Cordelia frowned.  
  
"Angel," she said. Hazel eyes filled with concern, she took a step forward. "Are you okay?"  
  
Before he could answer--or even think of a way *too* answer--the door opened once again. And a man came down the stairs.  
  
"Okay, Cordy," he said. "You ready to get"--and he looked at the occupants of the room--"started?"  
  
Cordelia's mouth dropped open. Eyes wide with disbelief, she stared at one. "Angel?" Then, her head swung around to face the other. "Angel?"  
  
A heavy silence fell over the room. The two men stared at each other. Identical expressions of shock on their identical faces.  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED) 


	2. 

TITLE: Times Two (2/3?)  
  
AUTHOR: Dannyblue  
  
EMAIL: dannyblue2@yahoo.com  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
  
ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just drop me a note so I'll know where.  
  
SUMMARY: This is a sequel to "Time Trip". Angel gets a glimpse of his future.  
  
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Provider" on ANGEL. Also general BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER.  
  
PAIRING: C/A and B/A.  
  
RATING: PG-13. Nothing you wouldn't see on the show.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone or anything associated with "Angel" or "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".  
  
NOTE: This is the answer to a challenge made to me by Yabyumpan over at the Stranger Things Forum. I didn't exactly follow the challenge to the letter, but I think this works too.  
  
NOTE 2: This story is AU in as far as "Waiting In the Wings" goes. In my little world, that episode won't take until several weeks after "Provider". When I wrote "Time Trip", I really had no idea I'd write a sequel, and I've decided I need time and space to move.  
  
NOTE 3: It's possible that this story will have more than 3 parts. I'd expected to have more scenes in this part, and didn't expect the scenes that are here to be so long. Anyway, whatever happens, there won't be more than 4 parts.  
  
PART TWO  
  
The Present...  
  
Angel stared at his...twin. His doppelganger. And his mind seethed with confusion.  
  
It had been so long. Was this what it was like to look in a mirror? To see a living reflection of yourself? If so, it was very...strange.  
  
"Who are you?" the...other demanded. His shock was quickly turning to anger. "*What* are you?" And he took a threatening step forward.  
  
Angel took a step back. Braced himself for a fight.  
  
"Angel," Cordelia said. She placed a hand on the other's arm. "Wait!"  
  
"What?" the other demanded, never taking his eyes off of Angel.  
  
Cordelia pointed. "Look," she said. And, reluctantly, the other complied.  
  
There was an area that vaguely resembled the cage in the Sunnydale High School library. It was filled with weapons, various odds and ends.  
  
On a shelf rested a bronze, egg-shaped statue.  
  
And it was glowing.  
  
"Dammit!" the other swore.  
  
____________________  
  
Angel glanced around the lobby of the sprawling hotel. Tried to wrap his mind around...whatever this was.  
  
Los Angeles. He remembered the last time he had been in the city. Those were the first people he'd really tried to help. And they hung him from the rafters of this very hotel for his trouble.  
  
It wasn't a pleasant experience, and he couldn't imagine what would have made him return.  
  
Frowning, he glanced at the other. He and the Englishmen leaned against the check-in desk, studying the statue.  
  
So far, Angel only had a sketch of what was going on. Somehow, he'd been transported into the future. And, somehow, the statue had something to do with it.  
  
He didn't believe it. Not yet. That this man, who looked like him in every way, was *him*. That this was *his* future.  
  
What was he doing here? Why had he left Sunnydale?  
  
Where was Buffy?  
  
"This is extraordinary," Wesley Wyndom-Pryce said, eyes bright with excitement. He was like a younger version of Rupert Giles. From the glasses perched on his nose, to his upper-class accent, to the reverent way he handled the book he held. "Fascinating!"  
  
"I don't know about that, Wesley," the other said. "I just want to figure out how the hell this happened."  
  
Angel took note of the frustration and uneasiness in his counterpart's voice. Since they came upstairs from the training room, the other had barely looked at him. And, when he did, his discomfort was painfully obvious.  
  
Angel could understand. Facing yourself was hard enough when it was just thoughts and memories. But when it was embodied, took shape and form, and with their past...  
  
((*Our* past,)) Angel thought, and very nearly smiled. ((I guess it's not so hard to accept after all.))  
  
Looking at him didn't seem to be a problem for everyone in the room.  
  
A young girl with long, dark hair sat in a chair, staring at him with open curiosity. Every time he glanced at her, she offered a wide, friendly smile.  
  
A young black man sat on the arm of her chair, watching Angel with unconcealed suspicion. Every once in a while, he'd mutter something like,  
  
"This place is a freak show."  
  
"Okay," Cordelia Chase said as she descended the stairs. "Have we solved this little puzzle?"  
  
Angel studied her. She'd gone upstairs ten minutes ago, without explanation. Now, he could see it had been to change clothes. She now wore jeans, and a long-sleeved top.  
  
"How is..." the other began.  
  
"Right as rain," Cordelia said. Then, she frowned slightly. "Thanks a lot, Fred."  
  
The young woman--Fred--grinned.  
  
As the other turned back to the Englishman, Cordelia paused at the bottom of the stairs. She looked around, like she was trying to find something to do, and her eyes skittered past Angel more than once. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision. Hand in her pockets, she walked towards him.  
  
"So," she began as she rocked back on her heels. "How are you doing?"  
  
Angel considered her question--and *her*--for one long second. "I'm fine."  
  
A rueful smile curved her lips. "Oh, I know *that* one. What it really means is `I'm not fine at all'." She gave him a considering look. "This is all pretty disconcerting, huh?"  
  
Angel shrugged. He wasn't good at talking about his feelings. Not even with Buffy. And Cordelia Chase...  
  
"You don't have to say anything. I know how you feel."  
  
Angel's frown was skeptical. "You do?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. I had a similar experience." She rolled her eyes. "Waaay too recently."  
  
Angel was about to ask more about her `experience' when he realized the other was staring at them. Watching with narrowed, disapproving eyes.  
  
Cordelia didn't seem to notice. "Well, we'll fix it. It's what we do. And, I mean, Wesley can figure out just about anything. It's one of the benefits of being obsessed with musty out books. Don't worry about it." And she laid her hand on his arm.  
  
Startled, Angel glanced down at her hand. Except for Buffy, people rarely touched him. Voluntarily.  
  
With a reassuring smile, Cordelia walked away. Angel stared after her, trying to reconcile this warm, compassionate woman with the spoilt, selfish child she'd once been.  
  
His eyes connected with the other's. The narrow-eyed, disapproving stare had transformed into a slightly hostile glare.  
  
As the hint of a suspicion formed in his mind, Angel glanced towards Cordelia once again.  
  
"I think I have a few answers," Wesley said. His strong, confident voice grabbing everyone's attention. Then, the shadow of uncertainty fell across his face. "Or, at least, speculations."  
  
Everyone drew closer to the desk.  
  
"Lay it on us, English," the young man--Gunn--said. "'Cause, you know, curiosity kills."  
  
"Curiosity doesn't kill, Charles," Fred denied. "Everyone always says that, and it's true that being nosy can get you into trouble. And, when you're eavesdropping, you never hear anything good about yourself. But, if curiosity really killed, nobody would ever invent or discover anything. And we'd still be livin' in caves and running around in..."  
  
"Yes, Fred," Wesley gently interrupted. "Thank you." He cleared his throat, straightened his glasses. "It's obvious that this current situation has something to do with the bizente. And what happened a few weeks ago." His eyes found Angel, who stood apart from the group. "We recently stumbled across this statue."  
  
"You got that right," Cordelia mumbled. She leaned against the counter, next to the other. And he took half a step closer. Not a lot. Just enough so that their shoulders touched.  
  
"Somehow," Wesley continued, "the power of the statue was activated, and Angel and Cordelia were transported three years into the past."  
  
"Our minds were," the other said. He looked toward Angel without looking directly *at* him. "I guess you could say our present minds possessed our past bodies."  
  
Angel frowned. He didn't recall anything like that happening. So it either hadn't happened *yet*, or...  
  
"Neither one of us remembered a thing," Cordelia said. "Not back then, anyway. And nobody mentioned it, so..."  
  
"So," Wesley continued, "we can assume that no one in that time period remembered the incident."  
  
Angel nodded. That made sense. If something like this could make sense. "You think this thing has something to do with me being here?"  
  
"Indirectly," Wesley said. "Since Angel and Cordelia's return, I've been doing some research. The bizente was once used to help a person `walk the past'. They could revisit and relive certain moments, but wouldn't have the ability to change events. Think of it as a very vivid dream in which you can't control your own actions. A dream in which you can relive some treasured moment, all of those emotions and sensations, over and over again."  
  
Treasured moments.  
  
Angel's mind went to his night with Buffy. Their one night together. Those few brief moments, when everything between them was perfect.  
  
"But the power of the statue was...corrupted somehow," Fred said. When everyone turned to look at her, a blush stained her cheeks. But she smiled and forged on. "Somebody tried to use it, and a little dark magic, to really really time travel!" The concept seemed to excite her. "Instead, they damaged the bizente. And they thought it would *never* work again."  
  
"But they just messed it up?" Gunn asked. "Changed how it works?"  
  
"Apparently." Suddenly eager, Wesley turned to the other. "Do you remember what Giles said before he sent you back?"  
  
"That the magic of the statue lingers in the bodies of those it effects." He frowned thoughtfully. "But it fades eventually. In a few hours."  
  
"Well, I don't think it *did* fade. In fact, I think *his* body"--he nodded towards Angel--"is still...infected by traces of that energy."  
  
"Which means mine was too," Cordelia said. She crinkled her nose. "Ewww."  
  
"And these traces made him susceptible to temporal magics that would have no effect on others." He turned to Angel. "I recognize the demon you described. It's called a hathor. These creatures have a very small, precognitive ability."  
  
"They can see into the future?" Fred asked.  
  
"Ten minutes or so, at the most. There ability is used primarily to keep them from being discovered. It tells them when someone is about to arrive in the area. It also helps them determine when their chosen prey will be alone and vulnerable."  
  
"So why didn't it know I was about to arrive?" Angel asked.  
  
"Well, their ability is at its weakest when they are feeding." He nodded, as if confirming that fact with...himself. "To continue, I believe that, when your dagger pierced the gland that gives the hathor their precognitive ability, it released a wave of temporal energy. And the only reason it had any effect on you was that you'd been exposed to the magic of the bizente. Your body was drawn through time, and too the bizente itself."  
  
There was silence as everyone absorbed this new knowledge.  
  
"That's it, then!" the other said, sounding oddly cheerful. "We'll just use the reversal spell Giles found to..."  
  
"It's not that simple," Wesley interrupted.  
  
The other grimaced. "Of course it's not."  
  
The Englishman looked like he'd been personally insulted. "As you pointed out yourself, Angel, the bizente transported your and Cordelia's *minds* into your bodies *in* the past. Your present bodies remained here. The fact that your past self's entire being has been transported into his future..."  
  
"Changes things," Cordelia concluded. "So, no easy fix."  
  
"Nothing's ever easy around here," Charles Gunn muttered.  
  
"There *is* a solution," Wesley said. "I'm sure. We just have to find it."  
  
"Looks like it's time to crack the books," Cordelia said. And everyone rose with varying degrees of enthusiasm.  
  
"Wait."  
  
As one, the group turned towards Angel.  
  
"I need someone to tell me what's happened in the last three years," he said. How had he come to be in LA? Working with these people? Living in this hotel?  
  
And where was Buffy?  
  
"I don't think that's wise," Wesley said. He looked the slightest remorseful. "We have no idea whether or not you'll remember what happened here if--*when*--you return to your own time. And knowing too much about your future could have disastrous effects."  
  
Everyone watched him, waiting for his reaction.  
  
Angel frowned. He could understand the logic in that.  
  
But he didn't have to like it.  
  
____________________  
  
The group he was counting on to get him back where he belonged got to work.  
  
Wesley seemed to be reading four books at once. He muttered happily. Made notes. His concentration so intense, Angel doubted anything could disturb him.  
  
Fred and Gunn sat at a table, reading from the same book. The young man seemed more interested in making the girl giggle than finding answers.  
  
And the other...  
  
About fifteen minutes ago, he and Cordelia had left the lobby. She'd grabbed his hand and dragged him into the office located behind the check-in desk.  
  
The other seemed reluctant to go. But he hadn't protested all that much, either.  
  
The hint of a suspicion in Angel's mind grew. But...  
  
Suddenly, he heard a sound. A faint squall, coming from upstairs.  
  
Angel looked around the lobby, to see if anyone else had heard. When it was plain know one had, he slipped away.  
  
As he climbed the stairs, the cries got louder. More insistent.  
  
He followed them to a largish suite. To a room that looked like...  
  
"A nursery," he realized.  
  
For some reason, feeling of dread settled, in his chest. Slowly,he approached the crib.  
  
There was a baby, dressed in blue. Crying and kicking its tiny legs.  
  
It was obvious the baby had just woken up. It was crying because it needed something. To be changed. To be fed. To held.  
  
Angel took a step back. It had been so long since he held a baby. There was his baby sister, more than two hundred years ago...who he'd betrayed in the most unforgiveable way.  
  
And the baby in China at the beginning of the century. The child Darla wanted him to feed on to prove his loyalty.  
  
The baby's cries got louder. More shrill and needy. Hearing them did something strange to Angel's cold, dead heart. Something he couldn't explain.  
  
"What are *you* doing in here?"  
  
Angel turned. The other stood in the doorway. Scowling.  
  
Pushing past Angel, he hurried to the crib.  
  
"It's okay, little guy," the other said. He picked the child up with expert hands. Cradled the baby to his chest. "I got ya."  
  
And the baby's cries began to fade.  
  
Watching himself hold a baby with such ease seemed beyond to surreal to Angel. And it made him think impossible things.  
  
"Whose baby is this?" he asked...before he even knew he was *going* to ask.  
  
Reluctantly, the other turned to face him. His eyes were inscrutable.  
  
"He's mine," he said. "He's my son."  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED) 


	3. 

TITLE: Times Two (3/4)  
  
AUTHOR: Dannyblue  
  
EMAIL: dannyblue2@yahoo.com  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
  
ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just drop me a note so I'll know where.  
  
SUMMARY: This is a sequel to "Time Trip". Angel gets a glimpse of his future.  
  
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Provider" on ANGEL. Also general BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER.  
  
PAIRING: C/A and B/A.  
  
RATING: PG-13. Nothing you wouldn't see on the show.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone or anything associated with "Angel" or "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".  
  
NOTE: This is the answer to a challenge made to me by Yabyumpan over at the Stranger Things Forum. I didn't exactly follow the challenge to the letter, but I think this works too.  
  
NOTE 2: This story is AU in as far as "Waiting In the Wings" goes. In my little world, that episode won't take place until several weeks after "Provider". When I wrote "Time Trip", I really had no idea I'd write a sequel, and I've decided I need time and space to move.  
  
NOTE 3: Welcome to the second part of part two...to be known forever more as part three. Enjoy!  
  
PART THREE  
  
The Present...  
  
Angel knew the room wasn't really spinning. The world hadn't actually turned upside down. And he wasn't suffocating, because a creature that didn't need to breathe couldn't suffocate.  
  
He stared at his twin, and the baby said twin was cradling in his arms.  
  
A son. He had a son. But...  
  
"This isn't possible," he said, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.  
  
"No, it isn't possible," the Other said. "But it's the truth." And his tone seemed to dare Angel to say otherwise.  
  
Angel took a step forward, barely hearing his twins' warning growl. Instinctively, he sniffed at the air.  
  
"Human," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. How could this...  
  
"Get out!" the Other snapped.  
  
Startled, Angel looked into eyes that were identical to his own. Eyes filled with anger and...something deeper.  
  
"Hey, there you two are."  
  
Both men turned as Cordelia Chase entered the room.  
  
The brunette took several steps inside and paused. A small frown marring her brow, she looked from one to the Other. "Could the tension in this room *get* any thicker?"  
  
"Cordy," the Other began. "Get *him*"--he directed a contemptuous nod toward his mirror image--"out of here."  
  
Cordelia gave the Other a long, hard look. Finally, she shook her head. "Angel, did you get *nothing* from our little talk?"  
  
The Other refused to answer. Mouth pressed into a tight line, he looked down at the squirming child.  
  
Cordelia sighed. "Come on," she said to Angel. "There isn't much you can do when he gets this way."  
  
Angel hesitated, eyes glued to the baby that couldn't exist, and the man that couldn't be its father.  
  
Cordelia grabbed his arm. "Come on," she demanded.  
  
And Angel reluctantly followed her out of the room.  
  
"Don't worry about Angel," she began as she led him out of the suite. "I think he's freaked out by the whole `another him walking around' thing."  
  
Angel nodded. At the moment, he more than anyone could understand that. But he had a feeling his twin's hostility was caused by more than uneasiness.  
  
"Let's find you a room," Cordelia continued. "As far away from Angel's as possible."  
  
As Angel followed her through the hotel, his mind returned to the hotel. To the nursery.  
  
Now that his shock was wearing off, he could think more rationally. And his rational mind knew it wasn't possible. There was no way...  
  
"It's yours."  
  
Surprised, Angel paused. Cordelia was watching him with knowing eyes.  
  
"The baby is yours," she continued, with complete certainty.  
  
Angel frowned. "But, how..."  
  
"Not to go into details or anything, but there was some *major* magic mojo involved."  
  
Angel nodded. He'd seen the incredible, impossible things magic could do. He imagined it would take a great deal to make a vampire a father.  
  
Angel almost staggered to a stop when another though slammed into his mind. If he *was* a father--if he could truly make himself believe that--then who was...  
  
"It's not Buffy."  
  
Pausing, he turned to stare at Cordelia. How did she keep *doing* that?  
  
Cordelia grinned. "No, I can't read your mind. But I remember what you were like three years ago. You pretty much had Buffy--and not much else--on the brain."  
  
With a perfunctory nod, Angel started walking again.  
  
"You weren't much of a talker either," Cordelia muttered as she trailed behind him.  
  
Angel barely heard her. He was too busy watching his thoughts race.  
  
If he *was* the father, and Buffy *wasn't* the mother...  
  
((No,)) he thought, shaking his head. He loved Buffy. She was everything to him. There was no way he would betray her to be with someone else. Just the thought of doing such a thing seemed as impossible as...a vampire becoming a father.  
  
Abruptly, he spun around.  
  
Cordelia let out a startled shriek, barely managing to stop before she barreled into him.  
  
"Who *is* the mother?" he demanded.  
  
"Geez!" Cordelia gasped. Hand pressed to her heart, she took several deep breaths. "That's one of the things I'm not supposed to tell you," she finally answered. Then, she pursed her lips into a frown. "I *can* tell you she wasn't one of my favorite people in the world."  
  
"*Wasn't* one of your favorite people? So she's not...around anymore."  
  
Cordelia looked surprised, like she'd revealed more than she intended. But she nodded. "His mother...left right after he was born. And it was probably the best thing she ever did."  
  
Angel waited for her to add more. Realizing she wasn't going to, he continued down the hallway.  
  
A son. He had a son.  
  
Cordelia believed it. And his twin believed it. So, maybe...  
  
Angel felt something squeeze his heart. It wasn't the usual, oppressive weight that rested there. This was something new. Something uncertain but...good.  
  
"What's his name?" he muttered, a catch in his throat.  
  
Cordelia cast a sharp look in his direction. Then, a gentle smile curved her lips. "Connor."  
  
"Connor," Angel whispered. It was a good name. A good, Irish name.  
  
Finally, Cordelia opened the door to a clean, sparsely furnished room.  
  
"There's not a lot of interesting décor to distract you," she said. "So it's perfect for resting. Or brooding."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Are you hungry? Want me to toss some O pos in the microwave?"  
  
"What?" Startled, Angel stared at her.  
  
"Blood," she said slowly, tone a little patronizing. "Do you want me to get you some?"  
  
Uncomfortable, shook his head. He never discussed his diet with anyone. Not even Buffy. When he was hurt, and she had to bring blood to him, he'd always been too embarrassed to feed in front of her.  
  
"Well, if you change your mind," Cordelia said, and she started to leave the room.  
  
"Cordelia," he called.  
  
"Yeah?" She gave him a questioning look.  
  
"What are you doing here? With...him?  
  
Her smile was bright enough to rival a sunrise. "That's another one of those things I can't tell you." With an apologetic shrug, she closed the door.  
  
____________________  
  
For two hours, Angel tried to sleep. He *was* tired. Every second, weariness seeped further into his bones.  
  
But his mind wouldn't rest. There were too many questions.  
  
He wanted to know about Buffy. The fact that he didn't filled him with frustration.  
  
Was she here in LA?  
  
She had to be. He couldn't imagine his future self being here otherwise. There was no way he would have left her in Sunnydale.  
  
He couldn't imagine betraying her, either. But he obviously had. He'd been with--had a child with--another woman.  
  
He had obviously hurt her deeply. Hurt her so much that she had left him...  
  
Feeling the stirrings of panic, Angel sat up in the bed. He wasn't going to *think* about this. It was pointless. And frustrating. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it!  
  
Restless, Angel stood. He really wanted to be alone right now. To think. But he couldn't stay trapped in these four walls, with nothing but questions that didn't have answers.  
  
So, leaving the room, he began to roam around the hotel.  
  
He found that, for the most part, the building was empty. He found a fully furnished room here and there, even a few that felt lived in. But most were filled with broken furnishing, if any at all, and in serious need of repair.  
  
He paused at the top of the steps and looked down at the lobby. The only person he saw was Fred. She was sitting at a desk, on the computer. Smiling happily as her hands flew across the keys.  
  
Frowning, he wondered where everyone else was.  
  
And that's when he heard it.  
  
Singing.  
  
Really bad singing.  
  
Turning his head towards the sound, he listened. And finally identified the song as...a lullaby.  
  
Curious, he followed the song. Into the suite he'd visited earlier. Pausing outside the door to the nursery.  
  
Cordelia Chase held baby Connor in her arms. She was swaying from side to side, singing the lullaby with gusto, unmindful of the occasional flat note.  
  
When she finished, the sound of baby-laughter filled the room.  
  
"And your Uncle Lorne says I have no talent for singing," she scoffed.  
  
When she turned towards the door, Angel found himself stepping back so she wouldn't see him. He didn't know why. He just...  
  
"My little Connor Wonnor," she crooned. "You are just the sweetest, cutest, handsomest baby in the whole world. I could just eat you up." There was a thoughtful pause. "I guess I really shouldn't say stuff like that around here, huh?"  
  
The baby giggled in response.  
  
"You think you're having fun now, wait `til your daddy gets back. If beating up on slimy, virgin sacrificing demons doesn't cheer him up, maybe a night of Disney will. What do you think?"  
  
And, again, she started to sing.  
  
Angel edged forward, so that he could see *into* the room without being seen himself.  
  
Cordelia was dancing gently around the nursery. Swaying and spinning. Making the baby laugh even more.  
  
Watching them, Angel felt the same squeezing in his chest. But stronger this time. Deeper.  
  
Cordelia Chase might not have given birth to that baby.  
  
But Angel suddenly knew exactly who Connor's mother was.  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED) 


	4. 

TITLE: Times Two (4/4)  
  
AUTHOR: Dannyblue  
  
EMAIL: dannyblue2@yahoo.com  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
  
ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just drop me a note so I'll know where.  
  
SUMMARY: This is a sequel to "Time Trip". Angel gets a glimpse of his future.  
  
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Provider" on ANGEL. Also general BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER.  
  
PAIRING: C/A and B/A.  
  
RATING: PG-13. Nothing you wouldn't see on the show.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone or anything associated with "Angel" or "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".  
  
NOTE: This is the answer to a challenge made to me by Yabyumpan over at the Stranger Things Forum. I didn't exactly follow the challenge to the letter, but I think this works too.  
  
NOTE 2: This story is AU in as far as "Waiting In the Wings" goes. In my little world, that episode won't take place until several weeks after "Provider". When I wrote "Time Trip", I really had no idea I'd write a sequel, and I've decided I need time and space to move.  
  
PART FOUR  
  
The Present...  
  
Angel watched woman and child sing and laugh for a long, endless moment. Until the sight of them, so happy just being together, was almost painful.  
  
Finally, he left the suite as quietly as he'd arrived.  
  
Still with no desire to return to his room, he decided to investigate the rest of the hotel.  
  
The dark, deserted hallways weren't so different from the cemeteries of Sunnydale. When memories drove him out of the mansion, or when he and Buffy managed to hurt each other yet again, he would prowl the graveyards for hours, walking the night away. Swimming in a sea of thoughts and doubts.  
  
Eventually, Angel found a room that looked far worse than any other in the hotel. It looked like it had suffered an earthquake the rest of the hotel had somehow escaped, perched on the top floor like a wounded thing,  
  
Angel went to the window and gazed up at the moon. But, in his mind's eye, he saw the nursery.  
  
Cordelia Chase. The same girl he knew back in Sunnydale. And, yet, so different.  
  
He had gone for years, decades, without changing. Well, except to become more withdrawn, more isolated, more torn by guilt. Not change. Just more of the same.  
  
Change was...hard for him. Even three years after leaving the gutters of New York to help the Slayer in Sunnydale, he hadn't changed all that much. He still spent most of his time alone, in the shadows. Avoided humanity whenever possible. Was uneasy when he had to deal with someone face-to-face. Even Buffy, sometimes.  
  
And, yet, look at Cordelia. In just three years, she had changed from a spoiled, self-centered, insensitive girl into a woman who...  
  
Into a *woman*. A woman with warm, hazel eyes. A compassionate woman, who had reached out to him not once, but twice. A woman who found joy in spending time with a baby.  
  
He hadn't realized it at the time. But, when he'd talked to her, his confusion, his disorientation, had eased a little. He'd felt better...for those few moments.  
  
It was hard to believe that the girl who passed out insults with absent-minded cruelty had become such a...soothing presence.  
  
Which didn't answer the most puzzling question.  
  
What was she doing here, in LA? With...him?  
  
In Sunnydale, they barely knew each other. Once she gave up on flirting with him, they rarely spoke. They could be in the same room, and not exchange a single word.  
  
So what had changed? How had she ended up working with him? Taking care of his son?  
  
Angel shook his head in frustration. More questions that didn't have answers.  
  
Angel explored the old hotel for another hour or so. Then, he headed back towards his room.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Angel paused, startled by the sound of his own voice.  
  
"Angel! Sit still and stop being a baby!"  
  
"I'm not being a baby. But that hurt!"  
  
"Oh, please. I barely touched you."  
  
Angel stepped forward, careful not to leave the shadows. Curious, he studied the scene below.  
  
The lobby had filled up in the last few hours. Everyone was there.  
  
Wesley sat behind the counter, four more books spread before him. Fred sat next to him, staring intently at a lap top.  
  
Gunn was playing a video game. He seemed oblivious to what was going on in the rest of the room.  
  
The Other sat on the sofa, shirtless. Cordelia, a first-aid kit open at her side, dabbed at a gash on his shoulder with a cotton ball.  
  
Fred cast worried glance at the gash. "Does it hurt a lot, Angel?"  
  
"Yes," the vampire said.  
  
"No," Cordelia said at the same time.  
  
He gave her a look. "I think I know whether it hurts or not, Cordy."  
  
"Pfft. It's just a scratch. Barely deserves a bandage."  
  
"You call *this* a scratch?"  
  
"Well," Wesley contributed, "compared to wounds you've suffered in the past, this one *is* rather...unimpressive."  
  
"And, it probably looks worse than it is," Gunn added over the bleeps and blips of his game. "So I'm thinkin' it can't be all that bad."  
  
"Thanks, guys," the Other grumbled.  
  
"Perfectly alright."  
  
"No problem, bruh."  
  
Cordelia shook her head. "Angel, you're just lucky you don't scar easily, or you'd be a mess. I swear, this is like a bad habit with you. Can't fight the darkness without getting a gaping wound as a souvenir."  
  
"Well," Fred said, "since you won't let him collect heads anymore, maybe...  
  
"It's not like I got hurt on purpose," the Other interrupted.  
  
"Yeah? Well, I notice Wesley and Gunn manage not to get sliced-and-diced every case," Cordelia pointed out.  
  
"That's cause I'm the man," Gunn said. "And Wesley's got luck on his side."  
  
"Thank you, Gunn," the Englishman drawled.  
  
"Well, I'm the one who usually gets to go hand-to-hand against the big nasties," the Other said.  
  
"That's true," Cordelia conceded. "But you'd think that, with all the practice you get, you'd be better at the demon fighting thing." She grinned. "What? Getting slow in your old age? Those reflexes not as sharp as when you were 150?"  
  
"Cordelia," the vampire said, a warning growl just below the surface.  
  
"No wonder I kicked your butt," she continued smugly.  
  
"You kicked Angel's butt?" Fred leaned forward, a delighted smile on her face. "Angel, Cordelia kicked your butt? Because you're a really good fighter, and if Cordelia can kick your butt...  
  
"No, Fred." The image of injured pride, he sat up straighter in his seat. "Cordy did *not* kick my butt."  
  
"Oh?" Cordelia asked. "So that wasn't you I knocked on your ass yesterday? That wasn't you I disarmed during the sword training portion of our fun afternoon?"  
  
"Yeah, well..." he sank back into his seat. "That doesn't qualify as kicking my butt."  
  
"Whatever you say." She taped a bandage over the now-clean gash. "There you are. Good as new. And stop pouting. I mean, it's cute and all, but..."  
  
"I'm not pouting," the other said. But, even as he spoke, a smile began to form on his lips.  
  
And so it continued. The five of them talked and teased. Gentle insults filled the room. Along with occasional laughter.  
  
Cordelia went behind the desk. It looked like she was organizing files.  
  
The Other wandered over to Gunn.  
  
"Hey, is that new?" he asked. And, within moments, he was playing the video game. Gunn watched over his shoulder, yelling out advice.  
  
Angel studied his future self. He seemed so...at ease with all of these people. And they, knowing exactly what he was, seemed to be at ease with *him*. They were...his friends.  
  
Frowning, Angel thought about his life. Before Sunnydale, he rarely came into contact with people. Those decades were a blur of faces, very few clear in his memory.  
  
Sunnydale was the first time he'd had extended contact with the same people in decades. But, after over two years, could any of them--Giles, Xander, Willow, Oz--be called friends?  
  
Willow was kind, but he knew he made her nervous. Oz was accepting by nature, but still a stranger. Giles had somehow found the strength to tolerate his presence, but there was an understandable tension between them. And Xander didn't bother to hide his dislike.  
  
No. They weren't his friends. He'd die for any of them...because Buffy loved them. And they'd all risked their lives for him...because Buffy loved *him*. But they weren't his friends.  
  
As he watched the scene below, he suddenly felt wistful. Longing for something he never knew he wanted.  
  
Angel started to turn away. Then, he saw that his twin's attention was no longer on the video game. He was watching...Cordelia. His eyes followed her from her desk, to the filing cabinet, back again. A smile curved his lips.  
  
He looked like he'd be content to watch her for hours.  
  
Angel frowned. That hint of a suspicion that had formed earlier took shape.  
  
"Hey, Angel!" Gunn exclaimed.  
  
The Other acted like he'd been snapped out of a dream. "Uh, what?"  
  
"It's my turn, man."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Right." He handed over the game. And his eyes went right back to Cordelia.  
  
"Enjoying the show."  
  
Angel spun around. Behind him stood a tall, green demon with read eyes and horns.  
  
Instinctively, he took up a fighting stance.  
  
"Hey," the demon whispered, alarmed. "Put the fists away before you hurt somebody."  
  
Realizing the demon didn't seem the least bit threatening, Angel relaxed. A little.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded.  
  
"Houseguest, nanny, fabulous singer, and former host of the best little karaoke bar in town." He grinned affably. "But you can call me Lorne."  
  
"Lorne." The name sounded familiar. "Uncle Lorne?"  
  
"So, you've heard of me." The demon puffed out his chest. "I *am* worthy of discussion. You're a topic of conversation yourself. Sorry we couldn't meet and greet before now, sweet cheeks. I was spending a little fun time with a specka demon when you made your grand entrance. Kind of lost track of time." And he laughed.  
  
Angel didn't know what to make of this creature. He was used to demons either trying to kill him, or quaking in fear when he walked by. `Friendly' wasn't the response he usually got.  
  
"So," Lorne continued. "What peaked your interest, pumpkin?"  
  
Of their own volition, Angel's eyes returned to his twin. The man had picked up a book and taken a seat in a chair. But it was plain to see that his attention wasn't on the words on the page.  
  
"Oh, you noticed that, too?" Lorne asked. "It *is* pretty obvious."  
  
Angel started shaking his head before the demon stopped talking. "No. There's someone..."  
  
"Don't I know it," Lorne interrupted. "You may be a little too closed off for me to get a good read without a tune. But *that* particular emotion is on full display, lambkins. She's so deep in you, I can almost see her standing there at your side. It'd be spooky"--he provided a shiver to illustrate his point--"if I didn't know it was your heart sending out echoes."  
  
Angel didn't bother to question that. Just looked back at the scene below. Cordelia had gone to sit next to his twin. The two were lost in some quiet, private conversation. "I don't understand."  
  
Lorne's smile was knowing. "It's three years later, angel eyes. Things change."  
  
____________________  
  
Angel had just laid down, ready to sleep despite the thoughts swirling around in his brain, when he heard voices outside the door.  
  
"Get in there." An exasperated hiss.  
  
Angel frowned. That was Cordelia.  
  
"No. I don't know why I have to..."  
  
His own voice.  
  
"Because you probably hurt his feelings and scarred him for life," Cordelia whispered. "I think you need to talk to...yourself." She giggled. "And doesn't *that* sound weird? Anyway, get...in...there!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why *not*, Angel?" Exasperated. Again. "I mean, I know this is a weird situation. But a psychiatrist could have a field day with you right now. You not liking an identical version of yourself. I bet Fraud would come back from the dead for this one. Which we both know could happen."  
  
A lengthy pause, followed by a deep sigh.  
  
"Remember what you were like back in Sunnydale?"  
  
"I kind of lived it, you know?" Cordelia said. "So, yeah."  
  
"Well, what if the girl you *were* suddenly showed up in your apartment tomorrow morning?"  
  
A thoughtful silence.  
  
"Whoa! Faith would probably end up with a new cellmate. And prison orange is *so* not my color."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"But come on, Angel. He hasn't done anything to make you all...homicidal."  
  
"No. But he's a past I try not to...think about too often. It's hard to explain. But seeing him makes me...angry. I don't even know why. Maybe it's because I know all the crap he's going to pull. All the people he's going to hurt. And I know I won't feel *right* again until he's gone."  
  
Angel stood up and walked towards the door. That Fred girl was right. You didn't hear good things about yourself when you were eavesdropping.  
  
"Well," Cordelia began. "I guess it doesn't matter now, but..."  
  
Angel opened the door.  
  
The couple turned to stare at him. Cordelia looked slightly embarrassed, like she'd been caught at something. His twin just stood there, stoic and silent.  
  
"Um, hi," Cordelia began. "Uh, we just...came to tell you th-that Wesley thinks he knows how to get you...back where you belong. Isn't that great!"  
  
Giving that a second to sink in, Angel nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"So, let's go!" And the young woman turned and hurried down the hall.  
  
After pausing to stare at each other for a few seconds longer, the two Angels followed.  
  
____________________  
  
"Are you sure this will work?" Cordelia asked. Drawing a final symbol on the floor, she stood up and wiped the chalk off of her hands. "It sounds iffy to me."  
  
"Oh, not at all," Wesley said, walking across the training room. "It's the same reversal spell Mr. Giles used. We'll just be using something very similar to a portal--only much less powerful--to return Angel's mind *and* body to the past." He turned toward Angel. "If you'll just stand in there."  
  
Nodding, Angel stepped into the chalk-drawn circle. He looked around the room. At all the people who would become an important part of his life. In the not-too-distant future.  
  
Wesley started to read the spell.  
  
And that same, sickly green light seemed to fall on Angel. Like a terrible weight crashing from the sky.  
  
Shocked by the suddenness of it, by the pain and nausea that seemed to consume every cell, he groaned and slammed to his knees...  
  
____________________  
  
The Past...  
  
Angel woke with a start. To find his face pressed against dew-dampened grass.  
  
Moaning, he sat up and looked around the clearing. The last thing he remembered was...throwing his dagger at the demons head, and a wave of sickly green light.  
  
He had a strange feeling their should be more. But didn't know what.  
  
Standing, he went to where the demon's victim lay. And wasn't really surprised that the boy was dead.  
  
"Too late," Angel muttered, adding it to a long list of regrets.  
  
He also regretted that he would have to leave the body where it was. It seemed...disrespectful somehow.  
  
But the boy would be found in the morning. His parents would know what happened to him, and not spend years trapped in a limbo between hope and grief.  
  
Angel found his dagger lying in a patch of scorched grass. Not much of a surprise either. When a demon put out that kind of energy when it died, you could usually count on there not being much of its body left.  
  
Angel wondered if the light might have any lasting effects on him. For a moment, he considered asking Giles what kind of demon it had been.  
  
But, no. Things were strained between them. And would probably always would be. It was best to keep his distance. Unless they needed his help.  
  
With one last look around the area, Angel left the clearing.  
  
He was almost to the mansion when he realized he felt...different. That oppressive weight that was always pressing against his heart had eased. A little.  
  
Usually, on these walks, he had nothing but dark memories to keep him company. But tonight, for some reason, and even though he usually didn't think too far ahead, he found himself wondering.  
  
What would his life be like in two or three years?  
  
THE END 


End file.
